


Desperate Souls

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Consent Issues, Deals and Debts, Eventual Smut, F/M, Lingerie, Modeling, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Smut, Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn't long before they both realize they've made a deal they didn't understand.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 119
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Based on this prompt.](https://timelordthirteen.tumblr.com/post/150583935012/belle-crushed-and-furious-after-her-fiance-dumps) Please read the tags. I am being overly cautious with regard to any warnings and consent issues in case anyone has any issues with what's going on here. Rest assured, there's very willing parties involved before the end. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle makes a depressing discovery and considers her options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. Here we go. Chapter 2 is almost done, but everything was getting stupid long and in spite of my plan I had to break it up. The entire story is all fully outlined now, but I make zero promises about my ability to keep it updated because I'm the worst. In total it will be anywhere from 10 to 15 chapters.

Belle stared at the paper in her hands.

_$37.23_

That was all that was left in the account. She staggered and then dropped down onto the old sofa. Her heart was thumping in her chest, her face felt hot, and her vision blurred. The page fluttered away, sliding over the coffee table to fall off the edge and onto the floor on the other side. The corner of the paper fluttered in the air from a heating vent in the floor, and she watched it for a long moment before her head dropped to her hands, palms pressed to her face as tears stung her eyes.

Her heart, her hopes, her money; Garrett Gaston had taken everything.

Well, almost everything. Apparently, she still had thirty-seven fucking dollars and change left. She shook her head and laid back against the cushions, breathing slowly. Calming down was step one, step two was figuring out a logical plan to fix things. Most of the regular monthly bills: car payment, cell phone, and utilities, had already been deducted before Garrett had a chance to clean out their shared account. That left whatever was on the credit card and the rent to pay. She let out a short, humorless laugh, and sat up. There wasn’t much on her Visa, some books she ordered from Amazon last month and her Netflix subscription. Even if there was more she could get away with making minimum payments if she had to and eat the interest until she got back on her feet. The rent was a whole other story.

Mr. Gold didn’t do minimum payments, but he did do late fees and interest.

There was also her promise to her father. Moe French was always just barely making ends meet, and she had agreed to loan him some money to buy extra stock for the flower shop ahead of Valentine’s Day, something she had done last year as well. That holiday always put the shop in the black for a while, and she hadn’t been concerned that she wouldn’t get her money back. Now she was wondering if she would also need a loan of some kind just to keep a roof over her head. 

Maybe she’d even have to move back in with her father.

Belle blinked, letting the tears roll down her cheeks, leaving trails through her makeup. Living with Moe was not an option, not if she wanted to maintain any semblance of a relationship with him, which left her with few choices. She pushed to her feet, wiping at her face with her hand as she crossed the small living room to pick up the bank statement. Her eyes immediately went to the top of the page.

_Beginning balance…$4,737.23_

The statement crumpled in her hand, her fingers squeezing it into a tight ball, digging the sharp edges of the folded paper into her palm before she spun on her heel and threw it across the space. It smacked against the door to the bathroom. She followed it up by yanking the ring off her left hand and flinging it in the same direction. It made a satisfying ping as it careened off the doorknob and rattled to the floor. 

Rage fueled her as she stomped through the apartment, snatching up the handful of things her now _very_ ex-fiance had left behind before he fucked off to Mexico with a woman who wasn’t her, taking all of her money with him. She felt like an idiot for agreeing to sign Garrett onto her account before they were married, but in the moment it had made sense to pool their funds. They were starting their new life together, supposedly, and he made a point of saying he wanted to help pay for the wedding.

Belle and her father didn’t have much, and from the outside it seemed like Garrett was far better off financially. He had a decent job selling insurance, a nice car, nice clothes, and his parents were very well off real estate agents in Boston. Or at least that was what he had told her. She had never met them, and that, combined with the fact that he had yet to make any deposits into their now shared account, told her all she needed to know. Garrett Gaston was a lying asshole, and for all she knew his parents could be dead or have disowned him. It was clear he had used her, though she wasn’t sure the year long charade was worth the four thousand-seven hundred dollars he’d stolen from her.

She let out a ragged breath and ran her hands through her hair. A hooded sweatshirt with a rip in the front pocket, a paint splattered t-shirt, a pair of work boots that had seen better days, a phone charger, and a mismatched pair of socks lay in a pile on the sofa. Everything else he’d taken with him, including half the hangers in the closet. He must have crammed it all into the same large suitcase and duffle bag he’d used to move in just three months ago. She wondered if he’d had it all planned before then, or if it was a spur of the moment decision. When had he met this other woman? Had he cared about her at all, ever?

Belle sniffed loudly and rubbed her nose. She refused to shed any more tears over Garrett, and looked around the room for anything she might have missed. A thought hit her then, and she hurried into the kitchen, took one of the chairs from the small table by the window, and used it to reach up on top of the fridge. Her heart sank when she felt nothing but dust. He’d even taken her emergency fund, mostly made up of spare change and small bills shoved into an old jar. She wasn’t sure how much was in it, but it had to be a couple hundred dollars. That brought the total to almost five thousand.

Deflated and exhausted, she climbed down off the chair, and placed it back at the table. Then she walked back into the living room and briefly contemplated setting Garrett’s things on fire. There was a burn barrel in her father’s backyard that he used for yard waste. Maybe she could invite Ruby and Ashely over for a bonfire, and roast marshmallows that they imagined were ex-boyfriends.

That thought made her smile, but a few seconds later, she sighed and reluctantly went to pick up the bank statement and engagement ring. Being angry might make her feel better temporarily, but it wouldn’t solve any of her current problems. Unfortunately, neither would anything Garrett left behind, which were clearly items he no longer cared about and which had no value. At least she’d been wearing the ring when he packed up and left, or he likely would have taken that as well. 

She went into the bedroom and sank down on the end of the bed. The mattress dipped and the frame creaked, yet another reminder of her less than stellar financial state. A couple of weeks ago, they’d talked about getting new furniture after they were married, in particular, a bed, and Belle rolled her eyes at the memory. She put the engagement ring back in its box on her dresser, and decided to take a shower. As the hot water ran down over her neck and shoulders, she made a mental list of what she needed to do, and felt calmer after she was done.

After drying off and changing into some comfortable clothes, she shoved Garrett’s belongings into a trash bag and set it by the door to take down to the dumpster in the morning. Then she sat down with the little notebook she kept in her purse and a pen, and started writing out her expenses for the next month. By the time she was done, and after considering the amount of her usual paycheck, the total she would at the end of next month was...fifty four dollars.

She fell back against the sofa and blew out a breath. There was no way to make the math come out any better. Rent included the usual utilities, but there was food, her cellphone, car insurance, and those incidental costs of existing like laundry detergent and toilet paper and probably a hundred things she’d end up running out of next week. It felt like life was out to spite her. The cushion she had worked so hard to build up was gone, as was the paycheck that had just deposited. Garrett probably waited until Thursday just for that reason, to squeeze just a little bit more out of her and make her ruin complete.

She got up and went back into the bedroom. The ring box seemed to be mocking her as she reached for it, and she flipped it open and scowled down at the princess cut diamond. It was about one carat in size, flanked by two smaller diamonds, which gave the ring a total weight of about one and half carats. It was huge as far as engagement rings went, and she supposed that was more of Garrett showing off money he didn’t actually have. The truth was she didn’t care for it at all, the squared off princess cut being her least favorite, and the set of three gems gave it a bulk and gaudiness that wasn’t her style. But it was what he had picked out and proposed with, and because of that she made herself like it. The band was rose gold, her favorite, which was at least one thing he managed to remember about her.

Belle snapped the box shut and shook her head. The ring had to be worth something, and though there was only one place in town she could take it she was confident that Mr. Gold would give her a fair price. He had always been fair, even if he often came off as cold and eccentric. She’d never had a problem with Gold, though she didn’t really know him that well either. A few times she had gone out of her way to try to be nice and talk to him, but he seemed annoyed and eventually she gave up. She was friendly and polite when she saw him, not just because he was her landlord, or because we wielded some strange power over most of the citizens of Storybrooke, but because she sensed he was someone who didn’t have a lot of kindness in his life.

She set the ring down and yanked open the bottom dresser drawer. Inside was a small collection of what could only be described as ugly Christmas sweaters, leftover from the annual holiday parties that Granny would throw at the diner. Those were taken out and set aside. Beneath them was something that made Belle frown all over again, a pile of silk and lace, with a few price tags caught up on each other. It was the pile of lingerie that she’d been reserving for her wedding and honeymoon.

The sting of tears made her blink and she felt her earlier anger bubbling up again. She knelt down in front of the drawer and pulled all of it out, throwing it behind her on the bed. Then she set about separating it, untangling tags and eye hooks, and pairing up the things that went together. She hadn’t worn any of it yet, but the items with tags had been purchased too long ago to return, never mind that she had probably thrown out the receipts weeks ago. It wasn’t designer stuff or anything, but it had to be worth something, so she folded it all into a neat stack and placed it on top of the dresser. Then she set the ring box on top and resolved to take all of it to Gold’s shop tomorrow.

None of it would be missed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T HATE ME. I'm not sure anyone thought that this was where this is going, but this is where it's going. Gold is a bastard, and he knows it. This is peak S1 Gold and Skin Deep-esque Belle, I hope that comes through. If there are any tags or warnings anyone thinks needs to be added to this, please let me know. I am always trying to be conscious of consent issues.

Alastair Gold sat in the back of his shop, scowling at the ledger on his desk.

His pen trailed along the edge of the paper, the tip guiding his eyes as he mentally added up the numbers. He wrote the total at the bottom of the column, -$450, and then, before he could contemplate what he was going to do about the debt he was owed, the bell over the shop door clanged loudly. Using his cane, he pushed to his feet and moved to the doorway between the backroom he used as an office and extra storage and the front of the shop to find a peculiar sight.

Belle French stood in the middle of the room in her red wool coat, her arms full of what appeared to be clothing. Her purse had fallen and was hanging from her elbow, and her hair was messier than usual. She looked harried and tired, and even at this distance he could see the redness in her eyes. One of his more responsible and courteous tenants, she was always ready with a smile and a kind word, even for someone like him. He didn’t understand why she went out of her way to speak to him whenever they were in the same location, or why she treated him like he wasn’t the complete bastard everyone knew he was, but the fact that she did secretly delighted and tormented him in equal measure. He might even admit to himself that he harbored the smallest bit of affection for her, a tiny crush that he buried down deep and never entertained as anything other than a fantasy.

“Miss French?” he said, folding his hands over the handle of his cane. “How can I help you?”

She took a breath and seemed to square her shoulders before she came up to the counter and dumped the contents of her arms across it. “I want to sell these.” Then she rummaged in her purse for a few seconds, and pulled out a small, black velvet box which she set down on top of the clothes. “And this.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he surveyed the items. She appeared to have brought in a collection of... _undergarments,_ and he felt a tinge of heat creep up his neck. He cleared his throat. “I see.” 

He moved behind the counter and leaned his cane against it before picking up the jewelry box. Flipping it open revealed a surprise, and his eyes darted quickly to her left hand and then back to the ring.

“I _presume_ this means you are no longer the future Mrs. Gaston?” he asked, eyes fixed on the sparkling diamonds.

“Yeah, he, uh, he left,” she replied, looking to the side at the old gramophone that sat at the end of the counter. Then she turned back to Gold, her expression hardening. “And he took our shared bank account with him.”

Gold glanced up in surprise. Though he couldn’t say he was shocked that her engagement to Garrett Gaston had ended, given that the man was an idiot and frequently a chauvinistic jerk, he was taken aback by the fact that Gaston had also stolen money from his fiance in the process. It certainly explained why Miss French had come to his shop, and it also started to form a very shameful idea in his mind that nearly distracted him from the matter at hand.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he managed.

She gave a short nod. “That’s why I’m here. I, uh, I need money.”

He smiled crookedly. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”

He took the ring out of the box and set it down on a square of padded velvet before retrieving a jeweler’s glass from behind the counter. She watched silently as he took his time examining the ring, which he made a bit of a show about, considering he had assessed the value of it the first time he saw it on her finger. It was a touch too gaudy for his taste, and he suspected it might be so for her as well, based on how she usually dressed. It was big, showy, and fake, not unlike Gaston himself, and Gold knew he would never see a return on it. He had suspected the stones weren’t real the first time he saw it, but he was willing to give Gaston the benefit of the doubt and not say anything. It was the kind of ring that would probably sit in his shop for years, and he considered that he might be better off to remove the stones and set them in something more suitable.

“Three hundred,” he said matter of factly, and set the ring back in its box.

Belle frowned. “For the ring?” 

He nodded and her frown deepened. 

“What? No!” She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “That ring cost over _three thousand_ dollars, and you’re going to give me _a tenth_ of its value?”

Gold sighed. “Look, Miss French,” he began, “the value of a thing is only what someone is willing to pay. It’s devoid of the sentimental attachments we may have to the object, or the -”

“I do _not,_ ” she snapped, “have _any_ sentimental attachment to anything that asshole gave me. I just want what is fair.”

“And I am telling you that what was originally paid for this ring is nowhere near three thousand dollars.” She continued to regard him with anger and confusion, and he sighed again. “Given the type of gold it’s made of, which of course is an alloy, and the fact that the stones are lab created white sapphires, albeit very high quality, that is the best I can offer you.”

Belle looked like she wanted to cry, and her loud sniffle told Gold she almost had, but she once again squared her shoulders. “So Garrett got me coming and going then.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “It would appear so.”

“What about this stuff?” she asked, lifting what appeared to be some kind of chemise from the stack of undergarments.

Gold stared at her hand and what it was holding for a long moment, and then met her eyes. “Nothing. I don’t want it.”

She dropped the silky nightgown, letting it spill across the counter. “But...it’s all new. Half of it still has the tags on. I haven’t even _worn_ any of it yet!”

He flashed his teeth. “A pity indeed, but clothing rarely sells in my shop, even the cast off designer items from Mayor Mills, and I can hardly put anything like _that,_ ” - he nodded towards the puddle of black silk - “on display for the public.”

Her mouth hung open as she stared at him.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, forcing his eyes away from the lingerie and curling his right hand into a fist to keep from touching it. 

He wanted to feel the cool softness of it with his fingertips as it slid over his skin. It was a shame no one would see her in it, but since the only option for that had been that lummox Gaston, he considered it only a small loss.

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Gold exhaled and closed the ring box. “You could take the ring to another shop, or go back to the original retailer. Perhaps they would give you a better price, but I would be surprised if he paid more than three hundred for it.”

She let out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “I don’t have the receipt, nor do I have the money for the gas to get me there, and it wouldn’t be worth it anyway. The rent is due next week, I need to buy food, and I promised my father I’d give him some money...” She sniffed again. “You don’t need to hear this, sorry.”

“You’re giving your father money?” he asked, curious, and she nodded.

“Yeah, it’s just for him to buy extra stock for Valentine’s Day. The shop always does well that week, and he’ll pay me back, he always does, but I have _literally_ thirty-seven dollars to my name right now."

She gave him a flat smile and shrugged with her arms out to either side, and then let them slap sadly against her sides as she sighed. Gold regarded her for a moment. Moe French borrowing money from his daughter was not exactly a surprise. The man borrowed from anyone who would lend to him, and in fact the four hundred and fifty dollar debt in the ledger still open on his desk was from Mr. French. Moe had even used the same reason with him, that he needed to purchase more stock for the upcoming Valentine’s Day orders. Gold suspected that the loan Belle would give her father would be used to pay the debt to him. It was robbing from Peter to pay Paul.

Her hands went to her collar and she pulled out the short necklace she was always wearing. It was gold with a teardrop shaped pearl, a simple but beautifully elegant thing, that he had always thought suited her perfectly.

“How - how much for this?” she asked, her voice shaking as she pulled the pearl up and away from her neck.

His eyes narrowed. The fact that she wore the necklace everyday had to mean it was important to her, and the waver in her voice gave it away. “Are you sure you want to sell it?”

She let the necklace drop and it settled out of sight behind the wide, thick collar of her coat. “No,” she sighed. Then she ran a hand through her hair and blew out a breath as she tried to keep herself calm. “Look, I know you don’t give extensions, but, maybe I could - I could get a loan from you to cover it? I get paid again in two weeks, and I could pay you back half out of that, or - or - _shit,_ I don’t know. Help me out here? Mr. Gold?” 

Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he met her pleading gaze. He knew what it was like to be down to your last dollar, the desperation and anxiety that came with it, and he knew what people might be willing to do in that situation. He had done things he wasn’t proud of, and he had failings as a parent that had left him with a more distant relationship with his son than he wanted, but unlike Moe French he had never lied to borrow money from his own child. 

His eyes trailed down to the pile of lingerie still sitting on the counter. It was a shame that it wouldn’t sell in his shop. He might enjoy seeing it everyday, imagining what Belle might have looked like if she’d gotten a chance to wear it, knowing that each piece was something she liked, something she wanted to wear for her lover. 

The sensation of the chemise against his palm when he finally touched it was a shock, and he blinked as a terrible idea formed in his mind. “Perhaps...” he started, drawing his gaze from the fabric to settle on her face again, “Perhaps we could come to an...arrangement.”

Belle swallowed and shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes darting from where his fingers were running back and forth over the black silk to meet his eyes. “What - what do you mean?”

He glanced down at the undergarments again and then up. “You said you’d never worn any of it?” She shook her head. “Would you want to?”

Her eyes widened. “How do you mean?”

Gold licked his lips. Something about the fear in her voice pulled at the darkest parts of him, the spread of silk and lace in front of him like a siren call to his deepest thoughts and desires. He was exactly as beastly and terrible as everyone said, and no amount of Belle French’s sweet conversation could change that. If she agreed to what he was asking then afterwards there would be no more of that, not for him, but for a little while, perhaps, he could indulge his baser notions.

“Would you want to,” he repeated, his lips curving into the slightest of smiles, “for a price?”

She took a step backwards and eyed him. “What? Just like - like modeling?”

He braced both hands on the counter to either side, and leaned towards her. His shaggy hair slipped forward, shadowing his face and darkening his sharp features. “Of a sort, yes.”

Her chest rose and fell steadily, her gaze scrutinizing. “For you?”

His lips twitched. “Yes.”

“For - money?”

He smiled briefly, a flash of teeth in the low light as he spoke that had her hand tightening on the strap of her purse. “ _Yes._ ”

Her face seemed to go through several expressions in a matter of seconds, from surprise to confusion to disgust.

“No!” She took another step back and frowned. “Why - what? No. No.”

“I assure you it would be quite worth your while,” he said, finding himself oddly entertained by her reaction. She was seeing the side of him that others saw, the facade she had constructed of him possibly being a good man, the one that allowed her to talk to him so sweetly when they met, falling away. “You could make up everything you’ve lost, and more.”

Belle hesitated at that, and he could see that her mind was warring with itself in spite of her immediate rejection of the idea.

“What would - how would -?” She stopped and pressed her lips together before shaking her head. “ _No._ ”

Then, abruptly, she lunged forward and snatched the ring box off the counter, followed by the lingerie, her hands gathering it up without regard for how creased it might get and tucking it into the crook of her arm. Spinning on her heel, she stalked out of the shop, leaving Gold staring after her with a bemused grin.

* * *

Belle stalked through the door of the pawn shop, trying to hold her coat closed, her purse on her shoulder, and keep the lingerie against her chest where no one would see what she was carrying.

She had never expected Mr. Gold to proposition her, not like that. His reputation varied by person, but most were in some agreement that he was a bastard through and through, ruthless and hard, inconsiderate and merciless. She had always felt they were exaggerating, that their bad experiences of late rent and unpaid loans clouded their judgement. After all, it wasn’t Gold’s fault if someone couldn’t keep to their contract, was it? She had been prepared for him to protest an extension, to threaten her with a late fee or even eviction if it came to it, and he would have been legally within his rights, even if it made him a little heartless, but to suggest that she - that she would -

Her heels skidded in a patch of slushy snow on the sidewalk, and she reached out to catch herself against the pole of a streetlight. The cold air was making her nose run and she sniffed loudly as she straightened.

She was halfway across the street when she stopped and looked up at the lights from her apartment over the library, glowing through the window in the little galley kitchen. It wouldn’t be her apartment for long at this rate. She’d have to move in with her father again or sleep in her car, neither of which were attractive options.

_You could make up everything you’ve lost and more._

Everything and more. It was exactly what she needed, but the thought of parading around for him in her underwear seemed beyond the pale. What had made him even suggest it? Was it out of cruelty or some streak of perverted amusement? She couldn’t begin to understand his motivation, but now that she was standing in the cold, her bare knees battered by the wind and her arms full of what amounted to useless trinkets, she considered that perhaps she didn’t care.

Mr. Gold had always been very exacting in his words, his agreements legally iron clad and always leaning a bit in his favor. He had said he wanted her to wear them, for him, nothing else. She’d asked if he meant modeling, and he’d said ‘ _of a sort._ ’ Modeling she could do, she thought, particularly for money, especially since most of the lingerie she was holding was fairly basic catalog stuff, nothing too risque or weird. There were a couple of items that she’d considered _special,_ but those could be easily stowed away somewhere or shoved in the bottom of the trash before she agreed.

Belle closed her eyes and turned around. The shop glowed bright in the darkness as she slowly made her way towards it. She couldn’t believe she was considering this, but her alternatives were few, and consisted almost entirely of being homeless or hawking everything she owned. Unfortunately, what she owned was barely worth anything. Her engagement ring, such as it was, might as well have come out of one of the vending machines at the Dark Star Pharmacy. Garrett could have gotten a cheap ring and a temporary tattoo in a tribal pattern for fifty cents.

The thought, sad as it was, made her laugh, but her smile faded as soon as she came to the door of Gold’s shop. This was it, a moment of truth. She was either going to accept his deal and humiliate herself, or take the two hundred dollars for the ring and starve for the next month. She reached up with her free hand and touched the pearl at her throat, her mother’s necklace which she’d actually considered selling just a few minutes ago, and exhaled.

 _Do the brave thing,_ she thought, and pushed open the door.

Gold was still behind the counter, and he looked up as the bell rang out. “Miss French.”

His voice was as smooth and even as it always was, with no tinge of surprise at her return. She regarded him for a moment and then closed the distance, her arms tightening around the undergarments she was still holding. 

“How much?” she asked quickly.

His eyes widened, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. “For each time or in total?”

“Each time?”

He smiled slightly. “One item, one night, each week until it’s all been worn.”

She swallowed and took another step forward. “Each time then. In - in case -”

“In case you want to stop?” he asked, and she nodded. 

Then he took a pen from inside his suit jacket, tore off one of the pawn tickets from the pad beside the cash register, and wrote something on the back of it before setting it on the counter, facing her. 

“I will pay you two hundred for the ring as well,” he added. “If you still wish to sell it.”

She inched closer until she could read it, and gasped when she saw the amount he’d written. It was more than enough to cover all her expenses for a month, and if he intended to pay her for each piece of lingerie, then in all it was definitely everything she’d lost and much more.

“Is that sufficient?”

She looked up and met his eyes, his mouth curving gently as he smirked, and for a second the sickening dip in her stomach made her feel as though she was about to sell her soul. “W-where? When?”

Gold pulled the scrap of paper back and took the time to fold it neatly before tucking it away in his pocket along with the pen. “My house, say, next Thursday evening?”

Belle pressed her lips together and then nodded. “Okay, um, do I need to sign something or -?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Not necessary. Unlike some people in this town, I know I can take you at your word.”

She frowned at that and took another step forward, holding out her hand towards him. He glanced down at it, and then extended his as well. They shook hands briefly, and then she turned to leave, wanting to hurry home before she got sick or started crying again.

“Miss French,” he called out before she’d made it more than two steps. She turned back to face him, and he nodded towards the bundle in her arms. “You can leave those with me.”

“Oh...” She looked down at the now rather mangled and creased underthings as she moved back to the counter. “Uh, sure.”

She relaxed her arms and let the garments fall from her arms, in a messier pile than when she’d first brought them in. Somehow their disarray and the cramping in her arms made her feel even worse. Then she fished the ring box out of her purse again and set it down.

“If you wait a moment,” he said, taking up his cane, “I’ll get the money for the ring from the safe.”

“No no,” she replied. “I, um, I need to get home. Can I - can I get it on Monday?”

Gold inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Belle turned on her heel and hurried out of the shop, her shoes loud on the old wood floor. She heard Gold’s voice bid her a good evening as she pulled the door open, but she didn’t look back or return the sentiment. She had done the brave thing, and now she could only hope that it didn’t backfire.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first evening at Gold's goes unexpectedly for Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go... ;) This got very long which I guess is what I get for trying to cram too much in. Chapter 4 is in progress. [This is what Belle wears.](https://i.imgur.com/XzQLcpk.png) And yes I have images for everything.

Belle spent the next week trying not to think about her deal with Gold.

Every time she looked out the library window at the pawn shop, or saw him walking down the street, she could feel her ears burning and a flush creep up her neck. Monday, she picked up the money for the ring, such as it was, and nothing had been said on the matter, except to agree on seven o’clock as the time she should arrive at his house. It was said almost as an afterthought, after the sales receipt had been written out and the cash was in her hand. She was so focused on the existence of their agreement at all, that she hadn’t given any thought to the fact that she didn’t know when she was supposed to show up.

Wednesday morning they were both in Granny’s diner at the same time getting coffee. He said good morning to her as he went to leave, very nonchalantly, very I am not paying you to model your lingerie for me, and she completely mishandled the change Ruby was giving her, spilling half of it into her purse and the other half on the floor. Of course he was out the door by the time the last quarter fell.

But now the day was here, and she couldn’t ignore the inevitable anymore.

She closed the library at five, and went up to her apartment to shower. The new shelving had arrived for the children’s section resulting in her spending much of the day crouching down on the dusty floor reorganizing everything. It was tiring work, but satisfying, and she couldn’t wait to unveil all the updates that had been done since the section was closed a couple of months ago. Her excitement for that was , unfortunately, tempered by what was about to occur as soon as she realized what time it was.

Belle didn’t know how one should dress for such a thing. Since she hoped the whole event would be just a quick in and out, she opted for a comfortable navy sweater dress and a pair of leggings, which she thought would be fairly easy and quick to take off and put back on. As soon as the idea of taking off her clothes hit her, her stomach dropped to the bottom of her black ankle boots.

_Fuck._

She closed her eyes and took a slow breath, in and out. The sick feeling faded, but she started to wonder if she should even go through with it. Gold was paying a substantial amount of money, and on paper it seemed simple: show up, put on some fancy underwear, get paid, and go home. Except every single part of that sounded like exactly what a prostitute did. While she was fully supportive of sex work from a feminist perspective, it was absolutely not something she wanted to do herself.

Yet she felt like she was about to, in a way, and it made her wonder what was in it for Gold. She didn’t really know that much about it, apart from the fact that he was rich and everyone thought he was a jerk to varying degrees. Her limited interactions with him had always been very cordial, and while he seemed a bit eccentric and reserved, he was also intelligent and sharply funny. The first time she’d met him, right before she’d interviewed for the position at the library, he’d made her laugh. Five minutes later, when she found out he was part of the town council’s hiring committee, she’d been terrified that she was already out of the running. He didn’t ask her a single question, yet at the end everyone had looked at him as if he alone held the deciding vote.

_Congratulations, Miss French._

That was all he’d said, and it was done; she was hired. The whole thing had been surreal, and now somehow her current situation made it even more so. Had he set his sights on her back then? Had he been waiting the past four years for a moment when she would need something from him to do - what? None of it made any sense.

Sighing, Belle checked herself one last time in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, and then picked up her purse. It was time to do the brave thing.

* * *

Gold’s house was on a dead end lane not far from the library.

Everyone knew which one was his, the pink Victorian with the wide front porch that sat between two stately trees on a small bump of a hill. It seemed set apart from all the other houses, both because of the wide, deep lot in which it was built, and because of the almost ominous way it loomed over the other homes. It seemed to project its owner’s presence, and Belle shivered.

She carefully picked her way up the front sidewalk, her hands clenched into fists inside her coat pockets as she wondered what piece he had picked for her to wear. There were a couple of items she’d special ordered that were more on the risque side of the spectrum, things that were more personal to her, things that she liked for herself, not just to wear for someone else. Faced with the prospect of wearing them for Gold, she felt strange, as if a part of her might be exposed in a way that had nothing to do with how much of her bare skin was showing.

She paused at the door, repeating her mantra to do the brave thing, before she raised her hand and knocked. Her arrival was earlier than they’d discussed, only a few minutes after six, but she couldn’t sit in her apartment another second. Hopefully Gold wouldn't mind her desire to get things over with as quick as possible. 

The delay before Gold opened the door felt interminable, but then a warm glow was spilling onto the porch, and she caught a whiff of something that made her inhale sharply. The scent was rich and familiar. It made her mouth water, and it took her a moment to realize it was the smell of food cooking.

“Miss French,” Gold said, breathlessly. He looked down at her and frowned. “You’re early.”

Belle forced a smile and shrugged. “Sorry, I was just sitting around at home and thought...why not just get it over with?”

His expression changed in a way she couldn’t read, but then he stepped back and held open the door. “Please, come in.”

The foyer was high and surprisingly bright, with a large, wrought iron chandelier that looked like something that belonged in the Middle Ages. In front of her was a short hallway that appeared to lead to the kitchen from which the aforementioned delicious smell was emanating. To the left was a sitting room, and to the right was the staircase, and while he was busy shutting the door behind her, she was busy...staring.

“May I take your coat?” Gold’s voice startled her, and she spun around to find him looking at her curiously.

She swallowed and nodded, and then handed it over, watching as he hung it on a set of hooks inside the door. Then he turned to her with a faint smile and his hands folded over the handle of his cane. Abruptly, she noticed that he was without his usual suit jacket, and instead was in just a checked dress shirt with a solid color tie. It was disarmingly casual.

“I was just making some dinner,” he said. “Since you’re early, I suppose you can join me, if you like.”

Belle blinked. Dinner. Dinner was so... _normal._ Dinner was a thing she did on dates before she let someone see her in her underwear, which was _not_ what this was. But at the very mention of food, the scent wafted in from the kitchen once more, and she realized how hungry she was. She hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch, which she barely picked at anyway as her nerves about tonight grew and grew.

“Uh, yeah, o-okay,” she managed.

At that, Gold’s lips curved a bit more, and he motioned with a hand in the direction of the kitchen. She turned and walked ahead of him, her hand tight on her purse strap, as if she expected him to attack her or hit her over the head with something at a moment’s notice. It was ridiculous, she knew that, but the situation was ridiculous, and clearly her nerves were still getting the better of her.

The kitchen was quite well appointed and large, with a wide gas stove top set in an island with three bar stools at one end. Delicate pendants hung over the span of dark granite, an old fashioned style with those bare filament bulbs and a dark metal finish around the top. Her eyes darted around the space as Gold went to work at the stove. There was a pot of something bubbling away, and when he removed the lid, the room flooded with the scent. She let out a sound that was half contented hum, half moan at the enticing aroma, as she leaned forward over the edge of the counter. 

He gave the contents of the pot a stir, and then retrieved two plates from a cabinet along with silverware from a nearby drawer. In a matter of a minute or two, he had dished up two servings of some sort of stew over a pile of fluffy mashed potatoes. She could see bits of beef, carrot, and pearl onions in a fragrant gravy, and her stomach rumbled loudly.

Gold glanced at her, eyebrows lifted. “The dining room is through there, if you’d like to have a seat,” he said, with a nod towards a room off the kitchen. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Without a word, she picked up her plate and utensils, and made her way through into the dining room. It was a long, narrow space that connected back around to the sitting room at the front of the house. There was a sizable table in the center with a total of six chairs, and an old fireplace on the outside wall that had been retrofitted with a gas insert. It was giving off a soothing heat, and she sighed as she came around the table. She set her plate down and leaned her elbows on the table, resting her head on her folded hands, breathing slow and deep as the fire warmed her back.

“Alright?”

Belle looked up and then straightened, nodding as Gold came into the room, his plate in his free hand, and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. “Yeah,” she said. “Fine.”

He returned to the kitchen to fetch two glasses, and came back a moment later to take the seat directly across from her. “Drink?”

She nodded dazedly, though whether that was because of lack of food, or because it was entirely too surreal that she was having dinner with Mr. Gold, in his house, which he himself had cooked, she couldn’t say.

“Beef burgundy,” he said as he popped the cork from the bottle and poured some wine into each glass. “Seemed like the thing for a cold winter night.”

“So you’re Julia Child?” She said it without thinking, and for a second she was worried he wouldn’t find it funny, but then he grinned crookedly.

“Hardly. But I think I do well enough.”

A half hour or so later, Belle would have to say that Gold did more than well enough. The best meal she’d had in ages, it was altogether warm and earthy, with beef so tender that it fell apart under the weight of her fork. The potatoes were the perfect thing to hold all the delicious bits of vegetables together, and scoop up the gravy which was made rich with red wine and bits of bacon. She set her fork down with a light clatter against the plate, and tossed back the last swallow of wine in her glass, which she was quite certain was a brand and vintage that cost at least half a day’s pay.

The thing that surprised her the most, aside from the delightful explosion of garlic with every bite of mushroom, was that they’d managed to fill the silence with something resembling actual conversation. It was mostly about food and cooking, something about which Gold seemed quite passionate and opinionated, but it flowed well, and for a time she forgot that this wasn’t a dinner between acquaintances. It was a business transaction, and too soon the food and wine were gone, and she started anticipating having to keep up her end of things.

She helped Gold clear the table, but he shooed her from the kitchen before long, sending her to the study. The room had double french doors at the entrance, a high ceiling, and a stone fireplace that would have matched well with the chandelier in the foyer in a fourteenth century castle. A rush of warmth washed over her as she opened the doors, and she smiled as she looked around. Flanking either side of the fireplace were floor to ceiling bookshelves, that contained all manner of books and collections, as well a small, but well stocked, wet bar. There was a large mahogany desk at one end of the room where a bank of windows looked out onto the backyard, and at the other was a wide china cabinet with even more little treasures.

Two high back upholstered chairs sat to either side of the fireplace, with a large rectangular ottoman in tufted leather that seemed to take the place of a standard coffee table. There was a sofa as well, facing the hearth, that matched the ottoman. The walls were wallpapered, but framed art of all kinds, hung on every one of them, and above the fireplace mantle was an appropriately sized television. A professional designer would probably find it an eclectic mess, but Belle thought it was cozy and charming, exactly the sort of room that one wanted to relax in while the wind howled and the snow fell.

She was just about to peruse Gold’s collection of books when he appeared in the doorway. “It’s after seven.”

His expression was more subdued than when they were eating, and she swallowed hard, feeling the abrupt shift in the tone of the evening.

“Right,” she said, willing her stomach not to give up the food she’d just consumed. “Where should I -?”

“There’s a powder room through there, just before you get to the kitchen,” he replied. “You’ll find what you need in there.”

And there it was.

The facade that had been in place during their meal had lifted, and Gold was back to being Gold. Standing with his hands folded on his cane and with his suit jacket in place, he was, as always, impeccable and imperceptible. She couldn’t pretend this was anything else but what it was, and the uncomfortable knot in her throat returned as she passed by him.

The half bath was located under the stairs, and though a wall somewhere had been adjusted to accommodate it, the slant of the ceiling made it feel smaller than it was. The odd shadows cast by the sconces over the sink, and the way the toilet was tucked into an angled niche, made it feel like a cell in a dungeon.

Belle stepped inside, closed the door, and froze. Hanging on a brass hook on the back of the door was the black chemise she’d brandished in his shop. It was fairly tame as such things went, being plain black silk with lace trim adorning the edge of the bust and hem. The most tantalizing thing about it was the spaghetti straps, and some of her anxiety was alleviated by the fact that he had chosen the least revealing thing in the collection. Of course that meant there were plenty of scandalous items left to embarrass her.

There was a set of metal shelves to the left of the pedestal sink, containing a basket of extra toilet paper, and a bottle of hand soap. She set her purse down on one of the free shelves at the bottom, and then sat down on the closed lid of the toilet to take her boots off. Midway through unzipping the first one, it dawned on her that she didn’t have anything to wear on her feet. Of course on her honeymoon that wasn’t such a big deal, though a few items she’d planned to pair with some sexy heels. She sat for a long moment contemplating what to do, and finally shook her head. Bare feet would have to do, and if Gold didn’t like it, well that was his problem. He was getting what he paid for and no more.

As Belle pulled her sweater dress up over her head, she wondered if she should have asked him for a contract. But that would have meant a paper trail that said she was selling her lingerie clad body to Gold. Proof was the last thing she needed, though she supposed he could be planning to take pictures of her or something equally damning. There were rumors that he’d blackmailed the former mayor, but it was so many years ago now that no one really knew for sure.

She stripped off the rest of her clothes and hastily folded them before setting them on the shelf next to her purse. Then she removed the chemise from the hanger and slipped it over her head, the cool silk skimming down her bare body and making her shiver. After a moment’s hesitation, she firmly decided she was keeping her panties on for this one. They weren’t visible through the material of the chemise, and were a similar black with lace trim style. 

Turning to the door, she caught her reflection in the brass framed mirror above the sink, and paused. The chemise wasn’t form fitting or clingy, but like most things made of silk and lace it didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Still, it wasn’t that much more revealing than her favorite blue sundress as far as cut and material went.

And yet it was.

It was an undergarment she had purchased for the sole purpose of wearing it as a preamble to sex. It was a statement, an invitation.

Belle forced her eyes away from the mirror and took a breath as she opened the powder room door. The hallway was chilly, and she shivered again as her bare feet made contact with the cold wood floor. She was grateful that the study was so warm, and wondering if he’d planned it so, starting a fire and closing the doors to keep the heat in. It was strangely thoughtful, which was as incongruous with what she knew about Mr. Gold as much as the fact that he’d served her dinner.

Shaking her head, she made herself step forward and then around the corner, heading back down the short hallway. The faint draft from the front door brushed across her, raising goosebumps on her arms, legs, and - elsewhere. She stopped just before the threshold of the study and looked down to see the front of the chemise doing nothing to hide her pebbled nipples. With a roll of her eyes, she pushed open one of the french doors, and stepped into the room.

Gold was seated in one of the chairs, facing the door, and Belle could feel his eyes on her as soon as she came into view. She tried not to look at him as she made her way around the end of the sofa, but when she reached the ottoman, it became almost impossible. Her eyes lifted and met his, and for a long moment she felt frozen in place.

The side of her that was near to the fire was quite warm, but the other side was still chilled from the hallway. She felt another tingle of goosebumps across her skin, and clenched her jaw to keep from looking down at herself lest she draw his attention to the obvious.

Gold’s eyes were dark, his features shadowed by the glow of the fireplace, but she knew instinctively that his gaze was traveling up and down her body, taking in every inch of her. He was reclined casually, right leg crossed over the left, and his elbows on the arms of the chair as she stood just a few feet in front of him. The handle of his cane glinted in the low light, and she had the absurd impression that this might be what meeting the Devil was like.

“Mr. Gold?” she said quietly.

He shifted in his seat and let his eyes bore straight into hers for a long moment before he raised a hand and made a circular motion with one long finger. “Turn around.”

She suppressed a shiver at the low, soft tone of his voice, and the way it made his accent heavier. Slowly, she pivoted on her heel, shifting her feet until she had turned in a complete circle. When she faced him again, his expression had changed slightly, his lips parted as he breathed out a whispered _lovely._ She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to hear it, so she said nothing.

Then he licked at his bottom lip and then gave her a small smile. “Would you pour me a drink?”

Belle blinked, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“Scotch,” he added, indicating the area to the right of the fireplace that she’d noticed earlier. “Neat.”

“Yeah,” she finally managed, “sure.”

She turned and moved to the bar, where she found a short, cut crystal glass and a tall bottle with a name she recognized. It was probably from one of the locked boxes wine and liquor stores usually kept the expensive brands in, the brands where if you had to ask how much the bottle cost you probably couldn’t afford it. Of course Gold was a scotch man. Neat suit, neat scotch, and her lips twitched in odd amusement as she poured the drink.

A heady, earthy scent wafted up from the glass as she picked it up and carried over to where Gold was sitting. She walked by the ottoman and came to stand at the arm of the chair where there was a small side table. He lifted his hand, and she placed the glass in it, but as he lowered it back to the arm of the chair, his knuckles just barely brushed the black silk covering her thigh. 

She stepped back quickly, her breath catching and her eyes going wide, but his face betrayed nothing. It was as if he hadn’t noticed, much less done it intentionally, and she exhaled in relief.

“Thank you, Miss French.” He took a small sip of the scotch, his gaze fixed on her over the rim of the glass, and then set the drink down. “Would you like one?”

Belle shook her head. “No thanks.”

“Very well then.”

His words felt final, and when he looked away from her, she knew her task was done. There was something strange about it, dismissive, and it left her unsettled. She hurried back to the powder room, and changed back into her sweater dress and leggings. She was overly warm by the time she was done, and blew a breath upwards at her forehead, ruffling her hair. Unsure of what to do with the chemise, she put it back on the hanger and left it on the back of the door. They hadn’t discussed whether she should take the lingerie back or not. If she kept it, she planned to throw it all in the dumpster with the rest of the remnants of her relationship with Garrett, but what use would it be to Gold?

That was a line of thinking she didn’t want to pursue.

When she came out of the bathroom, Gold was nowhere to be seen, but she could hear music coming from the direction of the study. She went to retrieve her coat, and when she turned around to put it on, there he was, with a yellow mailing envelope in his free hand. He waited while she put her coat and gloves on, and then handed her the envelope. It was a noticeable thickness to the contents, and her heart rate increased as she felt the rectangular shape of what was inside. He’d paid her in cash, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever held that much money at one time.

“I thought it was best not to have a paper trail” he said, once again folding his hands over his cane. “I assure you it’s all there.”

She gave him a brief nod before she tucked it in her purse. “I believe you.”

One of his eyebrows lifted at that, but he otherwise remained passive as he pulled open the front door. “Good night, Miss French.”

“Good night, Mr. Gold.”

She stepped out onto the porch, the chilly air a welcome relief on her face, but then he leaned out to add, “Do be on time next week.”

She nodded again, and then turned away, hurrying down the steps before he had closed the door. Nothing he’d done was impolite or disrespectful, and indeed she had to admit that the majority of the evening was actually quite pleasant, if also a touch awkward. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on her. There was a crawling sensation on her skin that made her itch, and all she wanted was to get home and take another shower.

* * *

Gold sighed and walked back into the study, leaning heavily on his cane.

He had immediately shed his suit jacket and tie after closing the front door, leaving them draped over the end of the banister to be taken upstairs when he went to bed. Reaching up, he popped the top two buttons on his dress shirt, but he still felt like he couldn’t breathe. The scotch wasn’t helping as it usually did, but he picked up the glass and took a large swallow before dropping down into the chair.

His eyes closed as he leaned back, conjuring the image of Belle French standing in his room in a silky black slip. The length had been demure, the lace no more than a pretty adornment, but it still affected him more than he anticipated. She was as lovely as he knew she would be, and clearly nervous.

Opening his eyes, he sighed again and stared into the fire.

Of course she was anxious about the situation, he was taking advantage of her, having her parade around wearing next to nothing while he watched like a lecherous bastard. It was perhaps the most selfish and base thing he’d ever done, but the moment when she’d looked at him, covered in soft silk and lace, half curious and half afraid, he’d felt a rush of excitement unlike anything he’d felt in years. It was delight and desire and depravity all in one. He shifted in his seat as the sensation washed over him again. When it was over, it would be final. He knew she would likely never speak to him again, but for this short time, one night a week, for as long as her collection of unmentionables lasted, she was his.

The fire snapped loudly, shaking him from his fantasy. He took up his cane and stood abruptly, deciding to forgo a second drink in favor of a cold shower and an early bedtime.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second meeting goes unexpectedly, once again, as Gold reveals more than he intends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments on this fic. I honestly thought it wouldn't be that well received as this Gold is sort of hard to like in places. I'm really enjoying writing this darker version of him, even if it's hard at times to get into his headspace. Enjoy the first of many Skin Deep references, and a slight tick up towards the ultimate rating of this fic. ;) [This is the nightie Belle is wearing.](https://i.imgur.com/KTBu0Y2.png) Also omg this is unbeta'd and a hot mess, sorry.

If Belle thought that seeing Mr. Gold in the week leading up to her first evening at his house was awkward, then the week after it was excruciating. 

All she could think every time she so much as saw him walking by on the street was _he’s seen me in my underwear!_ It made for several days of fierce blushes and unfinished lunches. Her mind kept replaying the moment when she’d turned around to face him again, and he’d let the softest, quietest _lovely_ slip out. She still hadn’t figured out if he’d even meant to say it out loud. It was hard to believe that seeing her in a glorified nightgown had rendered Gold that speechless, especially given how well known he was for having a sharp tongue. She’d witnessed him giving Keith Nottingham a dressing down last summer, right outside the mechanics shop where Keith worked. Even though Keith was well over six feet tall and clearly worked out, Gold made him seem tiny, almost insignificant. 

She grinned at the memory.

Keith was a jerk in every sense of the word, and Gold verbally tearing him a new asshole was the least that he deserved. But that was the kind of presence Gold had in the town; the mayor, the sheriff, the district attorney, they all acquiesced to him. Rumors said he had dirt on everyone, that nothing happened within thirty miles of the town line that he didn’t know about. She wondered sometimes whether that was part of why he’d made this deal with her, so that he would know something about her as well, so that he could have that control.

The thought was not comforting, but it was confusing. In theory, she had as much on Gold as he did on her in this situation. In fact, her position would seem far more sympathetic, if embarrassing, and if anyone did find out - god fucking forbid - she highly doubted they would take Gold’s side. It wasn’t the same as whatever he knew about Albert Spencer or Regina Mills, that made them go white as a ghost whenever Gold hinted at it under his breath. 

So what the hell was his motivation?

Belle sighed, and regarded herself in the mirror. She’d left the library right on time, and decided that tonight she wouldn’t shower before going to Gold’s. It was a waste of time if every Thursday evening she was going to come home feeling the need to do it again. Instead she sat down to touch up her makeup and hair out of some odd desire to look as nice as possible. It was another one of the things that confused her. She should have said the hell with it, and not cared if her hair needed a good brushing, or if her lipstick had worn off. Yet she did. She cared how she looked, and for as much as Gold was paying her, she figured he might care too.

Last night she’d even put polish on her toenails, a light, shimmery pink, and gave herself a mini pedicure. If she was going to be barefoot again, then that was part of the package too. She’d look as pretty as she could, head to toe - literally, and that way if Gold let anything else slip out, then perhaps he might have reason to mean it.

* * *

Belle arrived at Mr. Gold’s house perfectly on time.

Her knock sounded at exactly one minute till seven, she’d checked her phone as she came up the front sidewalk to make sure, and the door opened right as the grandfather clock in the living room chimed the top of the hour. 

“Miss French.” Gold’s mouth curved as he gave her a brief, appraising look before stepping back to allow her inside. “Right on time tonight.”

The first thing that she noticed was the bold, pink dress shirt beneath his pinstripe suit. She had noticed a while ago that he preferred a splash of color in his wardrobe, which was usually done through a striking tie or pocket square, but everyone once in a while there was something unexpected; last week it had been his checkered shirt, this week it was a brilliant pink. There was an eccentricity to his style that she appreciated. He appeared very reserved in his manner and dress, yet these little touches reflected something else entirely, something that kept people guessing.

Once again she caught a hint of something from the kitchen, tomatoes and garlic and something spicy. Spaghetti sauce, she assumed, and she made a happy noise, inhaling the mouthwatering scent as Gold once again took her coat and hung it up.

“Well, now I’m even hungrier,” she said. “Does it always smell delicious in here?”

He frowned. “You haven’t eaten?”

Bell shrugged. “Didn’t want to eat and then try on clothes, you know?”

He let out a gumbling hum and motioned for her to go ahead of him. “I assume you know where things are?”

She nodded and stopped by the door to the powder room. “Yup.”

“I need to finish cleaning up,” he said, moving past her and into the short hallway to the kitchen. “Will be just a moment.”

As soon as he turned his back, she opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. Her stomach was a mess, unable to decide between hunger pangs and the same vaguely nauseous feeling as last week. She set her purse in the same place on the set of shelves set beside the sink, and slipped off her shoes. She was more than halfway undressed, trousers off and blouse completely unbuttoned, before she thought to look at what Gold had put out for her, and stopped.

The nightie hung on the same padded hanger on the back of the door, looking delicate and pretty and oddly foreboding. It was a light, rosy pink and made of a stretchy cotton blend that was more practical than it was sexy, as was the little robe that went with it, but what her eyes were fixed on was the plunging neckline covered in lace. She swallowed and turned away, letting her blouse fall over her shoulders to catch at her wrists. The chemise from last week was the most unrevealing and basic thing she had, she’d known that, but knowing what else there was to be worn and seeing it hanging in front of her were two different things.

Reaching back, she unhooked her bra and then drew it down before hanging it over one of the posts framing the shelves along with her blouse. Turning back to the door, she took the nightie off the hanger and blanched when she saw the panties beneath it, dangling from one of those metal clips made to hold skirts or pants in place. Her eyes closed and she took a slow breath.

A beat later, she slipped the nightie over her head.

The skirt of it fell just to the tops of her thighs, barely covering her in the front and back, much shorter than what she’d worn last week which was as long as some of her dresses. This was undeniably sexual, meant to tease, and suddenly she was glad there was matching underwear to put on beneath it. She shoved her navy blue pair down and then took them off to lay folded on her trousers. The sensation was strange, so she quickly pulled on the matching panties, and then faced herself in the mirror. 

The nightie clipped in the back like a bra, just under where the straps criss-crossed, and it took her a moment to adjust everything to where it needed to be. The cups were soft and lined, giving her breasts a little more coverage than the black silk did, for which she was grateful, although the deep dip in the front showed off just how much cleavage she didn’t have. The panties were the same soft cotton blend as the rest of it, with matching lace at the waist that stretched without digging into anything. 

On the whole, now that she had it all on, it didn’t feel so bad. She had a sundress with the same sort of straps and clasp in the back, and aside from the length of the skirt it wasn’t that different. All in all it was actually comfortable enough to sleep in during the summer, she thought, which was sort of why she’d bought it in the first place. It made her wonder if Gold was going in some kind of order, working his way up to what he thought was the most risque and scandalous.

The robe was still on the hanger and she eyed it for a few seconds, trying to decide if she should put it on or not. It was part of what she’d purchased, and Gold had put it out with the nightie, but donning another layer meant she’d probably have to take it off. It was going to be a bit difficult to model the nightie if it was covered up with something else, but given how chilled she’d been last time, she thought she could get away with wearing it at least for a few minutes.

Sighing, she tied the sash of the robe at her waist and then eased open the door to peek into the hallway. Gold was still in the kitchen, if the clang of a pot being set in the sink was anything to go by, so she stepped out and hurried into the study. The doors were closed again, the fire roaring even bigger than last time, and she started to smile. It seemed he might have noticed that she was cold and made accommodations. It was strangely thoughtful, much as his invite to have dinner was, and she struggled to know what to make of all of it.

There was another noise from the kitchen, so she closed the doors quietly, and gave the room a more thorough going over. She’d been so nervous last time that all she’d noticed was the general layout of the room. Assuming she had a few minutes until Gold joined her, she took a leisurely stroll around the space, her eyes scanning all the shelves and walls filled with pieces from Gold’s various collections. 

The china cabinet opposite Gold’s chair was lit up this time with two small lights mounted above the top shelf. Belle came to stand in front of it, attracted by the light glinting unusually off of something inside. Her eyes went wide when she saw each shelf was full. Two vases sat on the bottom with an ornate oil lamp between them, dishes painted with landscape scenes, a silver tray beside an array of delicate crystal figurines, and on the top shelf, just at her eye level was the strangest tea set she’d ever seen.

Thin white porcelain had been adorned with flowers, painted in such great detail and outlined in such a way that they looked three dimensional, as though they had been plucked out of a garden. They looked so delicate that the petals might fall free if they were touched, but each cup and saucer as well as the pot and the tray it sat on looked as if they had been broken into a hundred pieces and glued back together with liquid gold.

“Kintsugi.”

Gold’s voice startled Belle, and she backed away from the cabinet as if she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“What?”

His lips curved as he took a leisurely step towards her. “Kintsugi,” he repeated. “That’s what they call it.”

She looked from him to the tea set and back again, until he was standing next to her. “Kint - kintsu-gi?”

He nodded. “It means golden repair in Japanese, the art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer and gold dust.”

Her eyes widened. “Gold dust? Like actual gold?” He gave another nod, and she shook her head, shifting her gaze back to the cabinet, following one of the lines of gold as it trailed from the rim of a cup down through a red rose and over to meet another line that encircled the handle. “Sounds expensive.”

“But beautiful,” added Gold.

Their eyes met in the mirrored back of the cabinet, and Belle held her breath until he looked away and went on to explain how he came to find the set. It had been packed in newspaper in a cardboard box, set inside a bigger box marked FREE at an estate sale in Vermont. Most of the pieces were already broken or chipped in some way, but there were a few books he was interested in at the very bottom so he bought the entire lot. Months later, he came across the box again in one of the upstairs bedrooms, and had the idea to try his hand at repairing it in this way.

“So, you made this?” she asked, unable to suppress the surprise and wonder in her voice.

“Aye,” he said. His voice was low and very close to her ear, and she gripped the knot of the robe tightly. “I fixed all the bits that were already broken, filled in missing pieces with things I had laying around, and smoothed all the jagged edges with extra lacquer.”

Belle shook her head slowly. She couldn’t imagine the patience and care it must have taken to create something so unique and beautiful, particularly when it was incomplete. It was - pleasing, wonderful even, and once again she was struck by the strange dichotomy that was Storybrooke’s Mr. Gold. 

“Is it - I mean can you actually, um, use it? Once it’s like this?”

He nodded, smiling crookedly. “The lacquer is made from the sap of a very specific tree, and the gold is dusted over it while it’s still wet and sealed inside, and once it’s all done and hardened, it’s perfectly safe to drink from. I’ve personally used that cup there.”

He pointed to the very cup Belle had been admiring, the one with the fine line splitting the red rose in two, and she smiled. “You made so much beauty out of something so broken.”

“Even chipped cups have some use, don’t they?”

His question surprised her, and she looked over to find him watching her, his expression as unreadable as ever. “I think,” she said, “that in this case the best teacup is chipped.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and abruptly, he turned and crossed the room to the same chair he’d taken before. Belle blew out a slow breath, her mind spinning and struggling to wrap itself around the sudden shift from their conversation to the purpose of her being here. It was as if her reply had struck a nerve, but she wasn’t sure how.

She heard the creak of the leather as he sat, and after a long moment, she turned away from the china cabinet and its precious contents, and walked to the end of the ottoman. She licked her lips as her hands went to the knot of her robe, and lifted her eyes to his. The end of the sash pulled free easily, the pressure on her waist releasing as the two sides of the robe slid open. She swore she heard his breath hitch, the slight little hiccup and inhale of air, but he otherwise remained completely still as she shrugged her shoulders, sending the robe shimmying down her arms. 

It landed on the ottoman behind her with a muted wisp, and she took another step forward. The edge of the nightie brushed her thighs, reminding her of how short it was, and she felt a heat that wasn’t from the fire creep up her neck. She bit her lip as her hands came up to her stomach and then dropped to her sides, unsure of what to do with them.

Gold meanwhile was just staring dazedly at her. His head lolled slightly to one side and then straightened, as one might when observing the way the light illuminated a work of fine art. The thought was absurd, and she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against the lace.

“Mr. Gold?” she asked softly. “Would you - would you like a drink?”

The question brought him out of the odd trance he’d been in, and he shifted in his seat before meeting her eyes. “Yes, a scotch please, Miss French.”

She turned and made her way around the end of the ottoman, crossing between it and the fireplace, feeling his eyes on her all the way to the bar. She was so grateful to be out of the heat for a minute that even the cold floor felt nice on her feet. For some reason the room was much warmer tonight than it had been last night, and she thought maybe she should say something about finding a happy medium.

Drink in hand, she walked back to stand closer to his chair, and held it out for him. He lifted his hand from where it was resting to take the glass by the bottom, keeping a sliver of a distance between where her fingers were around the rim and his. In doing so, he caught the hem of the nightie, and when he pulled the glass away and raised it to his lips, the hem went with it. It lifted slightly, just enough to feel a light flutter of air against her legs when it settled back into place. She stepped back immediately, conscious of the fact that it may have been enough for him to glimpse the matching panties underneath.

A shiver washed over her despite the flushing of her face, and she crossed her arms over her middle, her upper arms pushing her breasts together. Gold’s eyes dipped down, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip, just before he touched the glass to his mouth. She caught herself pressing her thighs together unconsciously as he sipped and swallowed, and took another step back until a blast of warmth from the fire made her stop.

“Thank you,” Gold said simply.

His expression was blank, as if nothing had occurred between them at all, and she knew that she was once again dismissed. Once again the abrupt change in his demeanor unsettled her, but she couldn’t give voice to any of the questions in her head. Instead, she gave him a short nod, and moved to leave, pausing to snatch up the robe before she all but ran from the study.

The bathroom was like an odd little oasis when Belle returned to it. She sighed at the cool air wrapping around her, calming her heated skin, and leaned back against the closed door, breathing slowly. The kintsugi, the conversation, the way he looked at her, she could make no sense of it. Whatever this was about for him, she couldn’t keep letting it affect her. She had to think of this weird arrangement as a job, nothing more. It was something she was doing for money - a lot of money, mind - but a paycheck all the same.

She blew out a breath and changed back into her clothes, deciding to leave the lingerie on the hanger again. If he wanted her to keep the items, then he could say so. She was tired of guessing his reasons and desires for any of this.

Gold was waiting for her when she opened the powder room door. He was standing with his cane, leaning a bit to the side as if he had to put most of his weight on it to keep himself upright, and holding a glass storage container with a plastic lid. She frowned at it as she lifted her purse strap onto her shoulder, and then looked up at him.

“For you,” he said, holding the container out for her to take.

Her eyes darted down to the offering as she reached for it hesitantly. “Okay...?”

“It’s lasagna. That’s - that’s what I made for dinner. I thought since you hadn’t eaten...” He shrugged.

“Oh.” Belle took the container from his hand and stared down at the lid. She could see a large square of something inside, with hints of red and creamy white. The scent of food still lingered in the air, and her stomach rumbled loudly.

Gold let out a soft, short laugh, and shook his head. “It’s still warm, sort of, but I recommend putting the container in the oven and letting it come up to 350. That should heat it through.” He folded his hands over the handle of his cane, and then added, “With the lid off, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated. Confused as to why he was giving her food, but pleased she wouldn’t have to make anything when she got home, she lifted her eyes to him. “Um, thanks.”

“No matter.”

He followed her to the door, holding her coat for her once more, and then bid her good night. 

* * *

The walk home was comfortably cool, but smelling of fresh lasagna the entire way. 

By the time Belle reached the door of her apartment, she was starving and had determined that this time the vague feeling of nauseous indigestion was from lack of food rather than anything that had transpired with Gold. He had been a gentleman about nearly everything, except for whatever those accidental brushes had been, and he cooked like he should have his own restaurant. The small touches were clearly accidental, and the odd sensation that came over this evening was easily ignored. If he did it again, she might consider saying something or changing her tactic of fetching his drink, but for now it was certainly more tolerable than half of the dates she’d had. 

Garrett would have had his hand up her skirt in minutes, which was a thought that made her entire body cringe now that their relationship has ended so spectacularly.

As strange as it might seem, she was more intrigued by Gold than disturbed or repulsed. The story of the tea set was charming, and the fact that the person who could remake some useless, broken bits into something so pretty was the same as the person who offered her a deal to parade around his study in lingerie, left her head spinning. She wanted to know how that was possible, and thought that perhaps over the next few weeks she might find out.

He seemed perfectly willing to talk to her, revealing small clues here and there, but once he realized he had, he tried to close up again. She supposed some of that was part of how he maintained his enigmatic personality within the town, yet there was also the possibility that no one had ever bothered to take an interest in him before. Maybe he had no idea how to deal with that, maybe he had some of the same anxieties about social situations as she did, though in her case it had somehow turned into a peculiar ability to make friends easily. In his case it kept people at arm's length, much the same as his prim, fitted suits and colorful shirts portrayed a baffling combination.

She put the container of lasagna, sans lid, in the oven as instructed, and left it to warm up while she took a shower. This evening she didn’t feel dirty or uncomfortable, it was just the end of a long day and she was more than ready for a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. The lasagna was, as expected, fantastic. The cheese wasn’t too thick or stringy, and the mozzarella had been mixed with something else that gave it a sharper, more aged flavor. In place of plain ground beef he’d used some kind of sausage that was just spicy enough to leave a lingering heat behind, but not too much that it burned, and the notes of fennel blended well the spice. He had been heavy on the fresh garlic and basil as well, which were probably her favorite parts. She was prone to using a bit too much of them herself, and she smiled as she shoved the last forkful in her mouth.

She contemplated asking him to add dinner to the deal, but that would make the whole arrangement feel like something it wasn’t. They weren’t dating, they weren’t friends; it was just a weird business transaction, needs and wants.

She needed money, and he was providing. Though what Gold wanted from any of it would likely remain a mystery.

* * *

Gold leaned back in his chair as he savored the last bit of his second glass of scotch.

Belle had been less nervous this time, perhaps because he’d spoken to her about the tea set. He hadn’t intended to do so, but the way she was looking at it was - indescribable, like the way she might look at a painting or sculpture by one of the old masters, with a kind of curious awe. What she’d said about the chipped cup was incidental, he knew it was not some kind of metaphor or anything, even if restoring the set had been far more personal for him than he’d let on. She seemed quite pleased with his story, and he wondered idly what she might say if he put it up for sale in his shop. Would she want to buy it? Would she use the money he’d paid her to have it?

If he closed his eyes, he knew he would be able to recall the moment perfectly, the soft flutter of the rosy fabric as it fell from her arms, exposing more beneath it. The brief brush of those fingers against her, the hint of the lacy panties hiding under the skirt, the same precious pink as the rest of it, made him shiver. He didn’t think she’d noticed, or if she had maybe she had assumed it was an accident. It was, partially, but instead of pulling away when he’d realized what he’d done, he’d continued, waiting to see if she would move first. She hadn’t; he didn’t know what that meant.

The nightie had a teasing, innocent look to it, but it bared more than it covered. He’d gotten an eyeful of her skin, so creamy and soft looking, supple if it were pressed, and flushed the prettiest pink in the warmth of the room. He wondered how else he might make her blush like that, and shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs as his own skin prickled with heat. He raised his hand, touching the fingertips that had touched her so briefly to his lips as his other hand moved to his waist, adjusting the pressure of his trousers and belt.

She had looked so beautiful tonight. Truthfully, she always did, but there was something about having her here, in his sanctuary, that made so much keener. A tingling throb twitched between his legs, and he gave in and pressed his palm to the front of his trousers, running the heel of it up and down his rapidly hardening cock. He couldn’t touch her again like that, couldn’t cross that line, no matter how much the image of her bare thighs tormented him.

Sighing, he forced his hand back to the arm of the chair and breathed slowly until his body calmed. As much as he wanted to take himself in hand and call to mind one of any number of fantasies, that was another line he couldn’t let himself cross. He was the monster they all said he was, in every way but that.

After a few minutes, Gold pushed to his feet, ignoring the lingering flush that crept up his neck and the ache low in his belly as he headed upstairs for another chilling shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is kintsugi.](https://cdn.lifegate.it/zS7zJhR9ncpHx6lGHUNZF7tY2fQ=/1920x0/smart/https://www.lifegate.com/app/uploads/2020/06/kintsugigrigia1.jpg) It's one of my favorite things and someday I too will have a tea set like in this fic.


End file.
